


Give Without Thought of Reward

by KesSkirata



Series: Give Without Thought of Reward [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Out Make Out, Fist Fights, Flirting, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Kiss of Distraction, Mild Blood, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Star Wars cursing, Young Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KesSkirata/pseuds/KesSkirata
Summary: Anakin Skywalker sneaks off to enjoy the swoop bike races in Coruscant's undercity, and helps a Mandalorian racer (you) out of a predicament.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker x FemaleMandalorian, Anakin Skywalker/Original Female Character(s), Anakin Skywalker/Reader, Anakin Skywalker/You
Series: Give Without Thought of Reward [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108715
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Give Without Thought of Reward

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my teenager self who was obsessed with Republic Commando: Triple Zero and Anakin Skywalker circa Episodes 2 and 3

Coruscant was so beautiful at night. Anakin let his legs carry him down the last few steps of the noisy metal stairs as his eyes took in the cityscape around him. The Jedi Temple was high enough that even here, at the base of the temple there was a cool breeze carrying the sounds of the city and excited Padawans around him. 

Aayla Secura pushed past him, her hand wrapped tightly around Kerra’s. Both girls were giggling, and Anakin flashed them a knowing grin. Aayla rolled her eyes.

“Have fun at the races, flyboy,” she threw over her shoulder, leading a smirking Kerra down another flight of steps. Aayla’s words were taunting but her tone was lighthearted and teasing. She had been one of Anakin’s first real friends at the temple. Her background in a slave camp in Ryloth and initial struggle to fit in with the other Jedi Younglings had made them kindred spirits.

“Maker, Aayla.” Bultar Swan’s voice came from behind Anakin, and he turned to face her. Her voice was grave, but laughter danced in her eyes as she watched Aayla disappear with her latest conquest. Bultar was one of the few Padawans still dressed in Jedi robes, her lightsaber prominently displayed on her belt. Three younger Padawans, newly chosen, stood in a tight circle at her back.

“You coming out for some fun today, Bultar?” Anakin lifted his eyebrows in fake shock at the older girl and Bultar rolled her eyes. 

“I’m showing them the ropes Skywalker,” she said, exasperated, “we only get to participate if everyone is careful. You didn’t complain when Vos showed us how nights out work.” Anakin grinned at her irritation, then schooled his features to sternness.

“Listen to Padawan Swan, and obey her directives,” he said seriously, “I trust her with my life.” Bultar’s smile at that was genuine, their friendship had been close since she had seen him struggling with his footwork in Forms class and had taken it on herself to help him catch up. Anakin’s late entrance to the Order had left him behind and desperate to catch up to his classmates. He never would’ve managed to keep up without Aayla and Bultar’s help. Many of the other younglings had resented him for already having a place as a Padawan learner, and for his near celebrity status as the fabled Chosen One. Only a handful had accepted him at their side. 

Clearly, the Padawans accompanying Bultar knew who he was. Their eyes widened at his declaration of trust and the human girl blushed when he winked at her. 

“Would you like to come with us, Padawan Skywalker?” she squeaked, face flushing at her own unexpected bravery. Bultar laughed gently.

“Anakin has his own mission tonight, isn’t that right Skywalker?” she said, nudging him through the Force. 

“See you guys ‘round,” Anakin said, tossing Bultar a wink and a nod, as he bounced down the final set of steps to the tram level beneath the temple. He could hear the older Padawan returning to her litany above him.

**_No intoxication. No fighting. No obvious use of the Force, except in moments of extreme danger. No lightsabers, except in moments of extreme danger. No using the Force to cheat or deceive other beings. Those who go willingly into dangerous situations will find themselves grounded from further participation. Keep your eyes open. Stay sharp. Trust your instincts and the Force will guide you._ **

Half a thousand years ago, a pragmatic Jedi Council had decided to turn a blind eye to the excursions of Padawans into the upper levels of Coruscant beneath the Jedi Temple. Angsty, overworked teenagers tumbled out of the Temple once or twice a week, burning off stress, and taking the opportunity to indulge in activities which were more strictly frowned on while inside the Temple’s walls. Everyone knew that there were younger Knights in the crowds around them, maintaining the silent, watchful eyes of the Order. The Rules were imprinted from each generation to the next. All were hyper aware that punishment for acts of disobedience by any individuals would be meted out to the collective whole. They watched each other’s backs, both for protection and to troubleshoot potential problems. 

Coruscant’s undercity had grown to accommodate the nighttime excursions of hundreds of apprentices. The levels directly beneath the Temple were full of arcades, pubs, shopping and food courts. Miniature speeder courses and zero-grav gyms were among the most popular with Anakin’s classmates. Older Jedi, apprentices close to promotion and those who had already passed through the trials generally occupied the pubs and VR holosuites. Others chose to walk along the promenade, eating greasy finger foods and gazing at the Coruscant skyline. 

Anakin’s path took him to the tram station at the end of the promenade. As a young Padawan he’d enjoyed the miniature racers and shooting ranges with his friends, but his heart had longed for more. Anakin missed the thrill of piloting, the rush of racing and having danger a heartbeat away. He missed working with his hands, tuning engines until they purred under his touch. So on nights where Bultar and Aayla were busy, Anakin spent his time bartering with junk shops, fixing droids and watching the swoop races. 

Swoop racing was dangerous, but not nearly so much as podracing. Still, Anakin was sure that he would feel the same thrill if he were ever able to participate. Obviously it would be frowned on by the Order as an unnecessary and dangerous activity, and Anakin didn’t have any way of getting either a swoop bike or the credits for an entry fee, even on amateur race nights. So Anakin made do with watching and dreaming and walking through the swoop racer hangers. The smell of fuel and hot metal was comforting and grounding, providing him with memories of home that were not nearly so bittersweet as most. He could lose himself in the flow of mechanics for a few hours, a welcome break from the stress and turmoil of training to be a Jedi.

The air-tram pulled into the station nearest the race circuit and Anakin was the first one out the doors. He had left later than usual, so the stands were already crowded and busy. Using the Force to enhance his quickness made pushing through the crush of spectators easier, and Anakin took a deep breath as he broke through the press to the guardrail. 

The night air was crisp, making him glad he had exchanged his voluminous cape for a nondescript puffy blue coat with a hood. There were warming stations along the railing but Anakin preferred to stand apart from the crowds. Cold was still novel to him, but he didn’t mind breathing it in deeply, reveling in the chill that ran through his bones. He was comfortable in the heat, but cold was thrilling. 

*******

You stand, taking a deep breath and moving cautiously away from the building in whose shadow you’d been crouching. Pitr Vizsla and his armored goons had passed your hiding place twice, but it had been minutes with no sign of them and you felt increasingly certain that they had taken their search elsewhere. Anger curled up in your chest, hot and violent. You had left your speeder bike two buildings over, forgoing the parking garage directly under the swoop course out of what you thought was extreme caution, but apparently that hadn’t been enough. 

“Kriffing shabuir, how many times do I have to say no,” you whisper to yourself as you climb the steps towards the stadium. The dark night sky was lit with city lights and a gentle breeze that carried the sounds of the racetrack lifted your mood. Their pursuit of you had been constant over the last few weeks, and you were not going to allow that di’kut Vizla to take away your favorite pastime.

You were almost to the gates, passcard in hand, when you heard them behind you. 

“Hey Vau, Boss has been looking for you,” they said smoothly, conversational, as though they didn’t have a blaster pointed at your back. Your teeth ground together and you wished like hell you had worn your beskar backplate. “Don’t turn around, and raise your hands.”

“He’s your boss not mine, di’kut. Why can’t he take a hint,” you curse quietly as you comply. There was a gruff chuckle behind you, and the Mandalorian moved into your peripheral, his blue armor decorated with Death Watch symbols. His blaster was steadily aimed at your center. “This is Clan Vasur territory,” you ask “why are Clan Vizsla and Death Watch here.” 

“You know we’re in the process of renegotiating, ad’ika,” he smirked, his smug words making your blood boil. “And you aren’t really a Vasur anyway.”

“Clan Vasur accepts everyone, we are all under the same protection” you say coldly. He jerked his blaster towards your face in a silent command and you bring your hands together at the back of your head. He moved close enough to touch you, letting his eyes run over your body as you covertly slipped the safety off the vibroblade built into your vambrace.

“Mesh’la,” he breathed, “Vizsla is a lucky man. The sooner your clan accepts that Vizsla is in charge, the sooner we can all go back to normal. Maybe you can help convince your buir of that.” He smirked and dipped his eyes for a split second to find the cuffs on his belt. You took your chance and brought your knee directly up into his unarmored groin. 

He groaned and tipped forward slightly, his hands shooting out to grab your wrists. But his response time was a split second too slow, and your fist smashed into the tender spot under his beskar chestplate. He groaned again, masking the  _ shunk  _ of the vibroblade ejecting from your vambrace as you pulled his helmet back and backhanded him, slashing the vibroblade across his exposed neck. Blood spurted and he choked on a gurgle. His cowl caught most of the scarlet spray, but you could feel the sticky heat on your hands. You let go of the helmet and kicked his chest, letting him fall in a crumpled heap against a wall.

_ Kriffing hell this is a mess.  _

You wipe your gloves as best as you can on your hip length cape and turn on your heel, your face a mask over the rage and fear in your heart. He would’ve told the others he had seen you, it was time to go. But you were so close. You looked longingly at the stadium, then a slow smile crossed your face. Your luck would be better hiding in there than it would be trying to get back to your speeder bike and home to the covert with Vizsla's eyes on you. 

***

The races had already started by the time you made it inside, and the onlookers were thinned out into the stadium seating. All the best places had been taken, but you see an empty spot at the railing, between a couple of Nautolans and a tall boy in a blue puffer coat, and rush to claim it.

You force your thoughts away from the man you had just killed and all the implications of Death Watch stalking you. You need this so badly. You need to just let go. All your anger melts away as the thrill of the race envelops you. The roar of the engines is so loud it's dizzying, but you need more. You crave it. You want to feel the pulse of the engines between your legs, the way the swoop responds to every minute twitch of your hands on the controls. The wind roaring past your skin and through your hair, making your eyes water even beneath a helmet. The thrill of danger and death just a hair's breadth away, you had never felt so alive as you did then, knowing only your piloting skills and reflexes stood between you and destruction. 

You miss it so badly it makes your heart ache.

The young man next to you bumped into you as the crowd surged against the railing and the horn sounded for the second lap. The racers speed around the bend, the wind of their passing stirring your hair. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, shifting his weight away from you. You look up at him through your eyelashes. He’s tall, with piercing blue eyes and sandy brown hair that looked like it might curl if allowed to grow longer. A blue knit cap covers most of his head. The restless onlookers have packed in tighter, and the two of you have no choice but crowd together. You grin up at him, letting your adrenaline from the earlier attack bleed out into shameless flirting. 

“No problem, I’d rather be pressed up against you than the railing any day,” you laugh, looking over your shoulder to see his reaction. He laughs too, the darkness hiding most of the red that creeps up his cheeks. “Who are you rooting for,” you ask before the silence can grow awkward. 

“I think Diwan, the Gran in the yellow, has the best chance of pulling out on top this round,” he said, his voice gruff with disuse, bass reverberating through you from where his chest was pressed against your back. You think of your beskar backplate again, this time thanking your lucky stars it was at home in your bedroom. He cleared his throat, nodding towards the giant holoscreen on the opposite side of the racetrack, “but I think Ayna Brinde will win the combined amateur trophy for the night. She’s holding to the third place position right now and she won the first lap.” He grins again, “what about you?” You follow his gaze to the Twi’lek racer on the red swoop and realize that you agree with him. 

“Wow,” you let your surprise bleed into your voice. “I agree. Ayna’s one of the better pilots out here tonight and she’s been on a hot streak lately.” 

“I know,” he grunts, “ I saw her win the Sah’c District Competitive last week.” The racers blow by again, the beginning of the third lap. Ayna Brinde used the turn to propel herself past Augullo, the Bith currently in second place and you scream with the crowd as she accelerates. 

“So, you come here often? What’s your name,” you call as the last speeders whip around the bend in front of you, subtly leaning back against him again, letting your head tilt up so you could see his face. He shifted uncomfortably, flicking his deep blue eyes away from your face and back to the racetrack. You suppress a grin as he reddens,  _ Fierfek, this is going to be fun. _

“I’m Dasha Vau,” you say, offering your name first. He grunts and looks down at your eyes.

“I’m Anakin,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes went back to the swoops racing past.

“I come to the swoop races as often as possible,” you continue “I miss being a part of this.” He perked up at that. 

“You fly swoops?” he asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

“I raced them,” you corrected. “I was pretty darn good too, I raced in the Under 18 amateur circuit until I crashed last year.” Your arm ached at the memory and you pushed down the pang of heartbreak, unconsciously flexing your fingers. “It messed up my hands pretty bad and my reflexes aren’t good enough to compete in the circuits anymore.”

Anakin’s gaze radiated sympathy and respect. “I’m sorry,’ he said simply. “Crashes are a bitch.”

You laughed, “Sure are! You been in any?” He grinned at the teasing lilt in your voice.

“Quite a few actually, I, uh, used to race too. A long time ago.” His expression turned wistful, and you felt a surge of empathy in your chest. He missed racing too. 

Your conversation rose and fell with the noise of the swoops. You were hungry for the opportunity to discuss racing and piloting and speeder mods with someone who enjoyed them as much as you did, and from Anakin’s animated conversation you guessed he felt the same way. Ayna Brinde won the amateur circuit easily, and that left you and Anakin pocketing double handfuls of credits from the betting droid, then ordering snacks from another droid. Both of you grew more relaxed as the night wore on, his smile flashing easily as you laughed together at the antics of the pit crews. Anakin grinned at your stories of the racers, asking questions and offering opinions of his own. You had to look away when you laughed so he wouldn’t see how flushed you were getting.  _ He was just so cute when he laughed, and his eyes sparkled when you teased him.  _ You desperately wanted to make him laugh again. 

The crowd grew rowdier as the professional racers came onto the track, their bikes so modded out they were barely recognizable as swoops. You were in the middle of telling Anakin about a professional mod you had worked on with your swoop, copied from a holozine with minimal instructions. You turned your face towards his, your mouth nearly at his ear because the crowd noise during the racer introductions made conversation nearly impossible. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of blue armor through the crowd. Instantly your stomach turned to ice. Death Watch had come for you. 

Moving slowly, you turned your face back towards the racetrack and adjusted your cape to cover your pauldrons, desperately wishing it had a hood. You had wasted too much time with Anakin watching the races, forgetting what had happened just before. Dried blood flaked off your gloves as your hands squeezed into fists. You hated feeling helpless and hunted. 

“What is it,” Anakin whispered against your hair. He had realized something was wrong. You glanced back for a second and he followed your gaze, bouncing his eyes with the air of someone well practiced in subterfuge. “Those Mandalorians are looking for someone, aren’t they. Is it you?” 

“Yes,” you whispered, realizing there was nothing to gain from lying. “I, uh, killed one of their buddies just before I came in here.” You felt Anakin’s body stiffen in shock, but he hid it well. 

“You did what!”

“It was self-defense, okay!” you hiss back, seething with anger and struggling not to project it at Anakin. “They’re trying to kidnap me.” You tipped your head back slightly to meet his dark blue eyes, hoping your honesty and desperation would show through. Anakin must have accepted that you were telling the truth, because the confusion and mirth on his face disappeared, replaced by determination and protectiveness. He glanced around again.

“They have two Mandos in blue armor working through the crowd from the right and two more at the stairwell on the left. I think there’s another one in the bleachers.” You nodded, you had seen much the same from your brief glance earlier. “We can’t try to leave, they’ll notice,” he continued, and you felt your heart squeeze when you realized he had included himself in your predicament. 

“So we have to stay still and try not to be noticed,” you finished softly. Anakin nodded sharply, as though he had made up his mind, and unzipped his coat. 

“Here,” he said softly as he pulled his hood up over his face, “put your arms in my coat and lean in, I think the hood will hide both our faces.” He couldn’t hide the blush that crossed his face when he spoke. You could feel your face heating too, but this was your only chance.  _ Besides,  _ you told yourself fiercely,  _ you’ve been wanting to touch him since you saw him. This is your chance. _

You stepped into Anakin’s embrace, and he wrapped his coat over your shoulders. Your hands rested gently on his waist and you buried your cheek in his chest. The sound of his heartbeat helped you control your frantic breathing, and you inhaled deeply. He smelled like sage and incense and leather, and he was solidly built. “Don’t move,” he cautioned, craning his neck across your head as he tried to see what the Death Watch soldiers were doing. You wouldn’t dream of it. You were both silent for a few minutes, so when he spoke it made you jump.

“Why didn’t you get out of here if you knew they were after you. You had to figure they would search the racetrack, especially if you come here as often as you said.” His voice was a low rumble against your chest, but his words were even. Still, a small thrill of fear coursed through you.

“I, um, I got distracted,” you whisper, flushing, and he chuckles. 

“I mean, I guess I’m pretty entertaining, right.” You could feel Anakin’s grin although you couldn’t see his face, and your own grin stretched your cheeks as you pressed against him. “Don’t get all cocky with me, flyboy,” you whisper, and laugh silently as he swallowed hard.

A scuffle not far from where you were standing startled you both. One of the Death Watch had ripped a hood off a young woman not far away and now she was screaming at them for disturbing her. Terror settled in your throat,  _ they were going to find you. _

“Fierfek,” Anakin whispered, “they really are serious about finding you.” You nod against his chest, not daring to speak when they were so close. Your arms reach out on instinct, pulling Anakin closer into a tight hug, and your fingers brushed against a cool metal cylinder clipped to his belt.  _ What the hell? _ The voices were much closer now, pushing through the crowd roughly.

“Dasha,” Anakin’s voice was steel as he whispered your name, “look at me.” You tipped your head up on instinct and his lips caught yours in a kiss. You froze, breathless, your mind skittering away from rationality. On some level you realized what he was doing, the Mandalorians probably wouldn’t interrupt a couple passionately kissing when they were searching for a woman alone. Especially since you had turned down Vizsla's advances on multiple occasions. He was just the sort of man to assume women hated all men when they refused his interest. But,  _ kriff _ , you just wanted to melt into this moment and stay there forever. 

Your hands gripped his shirt and you let yourself return his kiss, deepening it as you heard one of the Death Watch stop directly behind Anakin. The Mandalorian made a disgusted sound, “Kriffing teenagers,” he muttered as he turned away. 

Anakin’s lips stifled your giddy laugh as you realized the ruse had worked, and you could feel him smiling against you. He pulled back slightly, but you pulled him in, opening your eyes and reaching up under his jacket to grip his shoulder. His blue eyes were smoldering and it made your knees weak. Then you heard a familiar name and you froze, stomach dropping.

“The Vau girl isn’t here Vizsla,” the Death Watch trooper growled, “she must’ve left on the tram. Her speeder bike isn’t in the parking garage below.” Anakin heard it too, and his kiss paused as he stopped to listen. There was the beep of a comlink and then you heard Vizsla's voice, too faint to make out. “All right, I’ll head back down, Drasun out.” 

You both listened to the retreating footfalls of the Death Watch, bodies relaxing from the tension you had held. Anakin lifted his head, cautiously looking around before turning back to you.

“I don’t see anyone else, what about you,” he whispered. You lifted your head reluctantly from his chest and scanned the crowd. “No I think you’re right, they’re gone,” you breathed. 

“We need to get out of here though,” Anakin said at a normal volume. “They’ll probably send someone to sweep the stands again, that’s what I’d do in their position.” You nod in agreement as your face masks a frown,  _ Anakin knew a lot more about security protocols and stealth than you would’ve expected _ .

“So,” Anakin said with a smile as he turned towards the exit, “We were pretty distracting, huh.” You let out a laugh, genuine and full of relief, your eyes dancing. 

“Wanna ride my swoop bike, flyboy?” you teased him. His answering grin was full of wicked excitement. 

Neither of you noticed the figure hovering above in a jetpack, watching you move to the exit.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Shabuir- motherfucker  
> Di'kut- Idiot  
> ad'ika- little one  
> Mesh'la- beautiful  
> Buir- parent


End file.
